Red Ivy
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Set mid54. The Ellimist and Crayak go to the seventh game of the World Series...in Wrigley Field.
1. Spoiler

AND SO EVEN IN DEATH, SHE REFUSES YOUR EVIL.

_You consider me unaware of that?_

I'M REMINDING YOU OF THIS GAME'S FUTILITY. ALWAYS, WITHOUT END, WE STRIVE, AND FOR WHAT?

_I don't know, and neither do you._

THEN WHY ARE WE DOING IT?

_There is nothing else we _can _do. The universe must remain in balance._

WHICH IT WAS DOING ADMIRABLY WELL BEFORE WE CAME ALONG.

_Your naivety will ultimately destroy you, if nothing else does. We cannot change from who we are._

BUT MUST WE REMAIN ENEMIES?

_I'm a red eye. You're a blue glowing…thingie._

THAT'S ONLY HOW WE CHOOSE TO IMPERSONATE OURSELVES.

_Blue and red don't go together._

The Ellimist assumed a massive human figure and pointed to a small location on the planet known as Earth. HERE THEY DO.


	2. Out to the Ballgame

_I am amused. All the places in the universe colored between 420 and 490 adjacent to 630 to 760 nanometers, and you select this shrine of perennial loss._

THEY ARE ONE GAME AWAY FROM TRIUMPH.

_Do you consider me unaware of that?_

JUST REMINDING YOU…

_So what are you suggesting?_

I'M SUGGESTING WE TAKE A BREAK FROM OUR CONSISTENT MEDDLING AND ENJOY A SIMPLER GAME.

_I'll mark this in the record books: Toomin uses a clear, unambiguous, coherent sentence._

SO WE'RE GOING, THEN?

_We can watch from "here"._

OH, WHY NOT GO THE WHOLE WAY? ADOPT HUMAN FORM AND ATTEND THE GAME.

_Why not? Because it is sold out…_

A MINOR DETAIL, FOR BEINGS WITH OUR POWER.

_Why are you suggesting this? You cannot seriously be believing what you say._

CAN YOU SERIOUSLY ACCEPT MY OFFER?

_Of course I can. The question is whether or not I will._

WHAT IS THE ANSWER…YOU DON'T HAVE A NAME I CAN USE AS A DEROGATIVE. THAT'S TOO BAD.

_I disagree._

The Ellimist found himself staring at a grassy field that would put the Andalites' most treasured grazing patch to shame. Some organisms were standing on it: eighteen of which were dressed in pinstripes. I'M SURPRISED. It observed the guise that Crayak had adopted for the occasion. HOW IRONIC.

_Have you paid any attention to your own? Or is that the noble Toomin, always putting others first?_

It seethed, a seething that was felt lightyears away as species sprang to life and death without notice. But it did note what Crayak had chosen for it. HOW MACABRE. HOW DELIGHTFULLY MACABRE.

_What's not to like? We are two human teenagers, enjoying a day at a ballgame._

A PEACEFUL BALL GAME, THAT NO METAGALACTICIANS ARE INTERFERING WITH.

_But of course._


	3. Top of the First

Author's Note: I'm really enjoying this story! I get to write in a style I like. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to reply to reviews. If I _was_, I'd tell ladyimperialdramon that yes, I am a definite Cubs fan, and no, this is not that fateful sixth game. (Great guess though, I would not have thought of that!) But, since I'm not...here's Chapter Three.

The Cubs' pitcher ascended the mound. He was relatively young: the veterans had been worn out in getting this far. He was almost incredulous at the situation he was in. Wasn't this every kid's dream, to pitch on this stage? He felt oddly detached, as if the game had already been played and he was frozen in time, watching it.

The distance to home plate was sixty feet, six inches, but it seemed like light years as he strained for the catcher's signal, nodded, began his windup. The ball rolled off his fingertips and outside the strike zone of the batter, a slim import with an unpronounceable last-no, first-no, aw, heck, they both were-name. "Ball!" called the umpire, and it sounded and resounded.

SO CLOSE TO BEING A STRIKE.

"Everything is, on our scale," said what was apparently a male human, with a male human's voice.

"You're more interested in this than I expected," replied what was apparently a female human, with a female human's voice.

"Do you put an emphasis on the word "interested"?"

"I'm not saying that word now, so I can't emphasize it." Ball two.

"_Did_ you put an emphasis on the word "interested"?"

"Surely someone of your mental capacity should be able to remember. Then again, you could be applying your full strength to other pursuits."

"You're not naïve enough to think I'd be dropping all my other concentrations while I spectate." The batter fouled the third pitch off to the right.

"Aren't I?"

"No, because you're doing it too."

"Oho, am I?"

"Yes."

"And how do you know? Are you watching me? Or are you still "busy"?"

Crayak could not safely respond; he had been led into a logical trap. "Why do you assume I'm interfering, and that it's not the work of so many quarks in constant quantum motion?" Pop fly. The shortstop took a step forward and snagged it.

"I've learned to not trust you. I'm still mildly surprised you're willing to go to this game with me." The second batter approached, and he an older one, with worn superstitions. He follows them accurately: he has won championships before, but does that make this one any less? Strike, swinging.

The apparent male human smirked at the apparent female human. "It's not the game so much as it is you."

"Oh, puh-leeze."

"You're masquerading a bit too well."

"I think she would have approved."

"Do you want me to test that theory?"

The Ellimist had never seen Crayak attempt something that direct. The female shape dissolved as the Ellimist concentrated on Crayak's effort. The dramatic ripples through space-time fodpefe uijs qisbtf…

…and the batter swung, and the bat connected. Had it not been for the existence of the third baseman's glove, the third baseman's _hand_ could have been in perilous condition. Two away.

_Relax. I wouldn't try that when I'm also…_

ATTEMPTING TO INFLUENCE THE GAME?

They reemerged in their seats as the third out was made.


	4. Bottom of the First

Author's Notes: This is one of those times where I'm very happy this website does not allow review replies in text. That's the only thing that prevents me from GOING OFF ON A RANT ABOUT HOW BLAME IS BEING PUT ON THE WRONG PEOPLE, AND HOW ALEX GONZALEZ BOOTED AN EASY GROUNDER! I would like to be able to tell ladyimperialdramon that she was correct: Crayak is the male and the Ellimist the female, but I guess we have to make these tradeoffs. On another note, I may be combining the halves of innings to get longer chapters. Anybody have opinions about that?

The Cubs' leadoff batter took the first pitch for a strike, or so ruled the umpire. "That was a ball," complained the apparent human male.

His companion raised her eyebrows. "The umpire called it a strike."

"But it was a ball."

"Look up on the scoreboard. Strike."

"It was outside the strike zone."

"Regardless of whether it was outside or inside, it _is_ a strike. That's what's going in the record books."

"Unless something interferes." Grounder to short, over to first for the out.

"You see? It wasn't even relevant."

"What about the pitcher's morale?"

"I doubt that will be a factor." Up comes the next batter.

"Because you've got the whole game set up?"

"If I was, what would I be doing here?"

"Tormenting you."

"I've got other ways to do that." Fly to center.

"Like your game on this planet?"

"I'll admit it was not as successful as I would have liked it to be."

"Still, you worked remarkably well."

"I cannot take the credit for what the children accomplished. They were only-"

"Very coincidentally in the right place at the right time?"

"Well, that." The third batter hit to third base, another easy out for the visitors.


	5. Top of the Second

If LadyImperialDramon got an account on this website, I could private message her to say "Alou's reaction would have started a snowball effect, not the "interference".". And speaking of" interference"-what have those two been up to now?

The pitcher looked down at the mound, _his_ mound. There were unfamiliar scuffings now, those of his opponent. A dominator who wouldn't even have to come to bat.

The batter stepped into one of the boxes, then the other. "It's a switch hitter," remarked Crayak in the body it was assuming.

"Ey! Popcorn!" waved the Ellimist to a man strolling the bleachers. "What'd you say?"

"The batter's a switch-hitter." He stroked the first offering foul.

"Why is that relevant?"

"I find it an ironic metaphor for the universe-able to switch "alignments" at the slightest provocation."

"I assume you're not referring to the charge of subatomic particles?"

"No." The batter lined to left.

"Where's that popcorn?"

"Bombarding the seventh planet in the Kadratian system at a rate of .42 c."

The Ellimist checked. Sure enough, all its work on _Falla Kadrat _was being negated. While it tried to respin the waves of spacetime to its advantage, and the second batter took a strike, the apparent human female called again. "Popcorn?"

"Do you really want to attract the attention that you will attract if someone sees you?"

"Oh, and how do you _know_ attention will be attracted?"

"Based on what I know about this planet and the guise you are assuming, I am able to extrapolate." Ball, high.

"You're _able_ to extrapolate. But did you?"

"I'm sure you can find out. But of course, that would involve letting go of your control of this game."

"Why do you persist on assuming I care about the outcome of the game? Or that I would influence it?"

"Because I'm right, and I know it." A wicked grounder that the second baseman had to dive to come up for. Over to first-and-it would be a close one…out! The crowd cheered.

"On very few things, and that is not one of them. Now, if _you're_ partial, and therefore assuming I am, probably to the organisms you are opposing…"

"But such hypotheticals are not worthy of our discussion."

"Are you admitting bias?"

"No."

"So the fact that that ball is being hit at incredible height and speed towards the outfield as soon as I bring this up is only a coincidence?"

"As is the fact that it's being caught by the center fielder?"

They looked at each other and nodded.


	6. Bottom of the Second

_I believe a certain website deletes its name when it appears in the fanfiction posted by its users. That's too bad. I would like to give a big thank-you to that website for not allowing review responses in chapters, but, I can't. Curious as to why? A potential extreme rant on the subject of _Cubs fans wanting to lose? Excuse me? Deliberately trying to lose? Is there a Yeerk in your head?Also, the Billy Goat Curse was _lifted_ by its original caster._to Ladyimperialdramon would probably follow, and I don't think that's a good thing. (The opposing team has not yet been identified, and may not be. It's not crucial.)_

The first batter for the home team dug in quite deep, to the perceivable annoyance of the opposing pitcher standing askew on the mound, one hand on its corresponding hip, looking down. Funny how the sixty-and-a-half-foot horizontal distance to the plate seemed insignificant compared to the ten-inch _vertical_ distance. At this moment he was on top of the world.

The batter swung and missed outrageously, forcing him to redo his routine. "Do you think he could be trying to hit it over the fence?" suggested the Ellimist, with a tone of humor in her voice.

"I hope he's not that backward. It's only the second inning."

"Why should you hope anything about his attitude? Is it significant to you?"

"You sound like it shouldn't be."

"My priorities are not your priorities." Loud foul to the left.

"I've noticed. In fact, they often seem to be the exact opposites thereof."

"How very coincidental."

"Indeed." Swing and a miss on what could have been ball two. The second batter took his place in the opposite box and stared without fear at the pitcher. Mildly unnerved, he threw a curveball that didn't curve and was rocketed into left field. Only sure-footed play by the fielder therein prevented it from becoming an extra-base hit.

The third batter, as if trying to atone for the first, shuffled in without much confidence. A wicked slider sizzled in for strike one. It preceded a weak grounder to third. "That would have been an admirable bunt," the Ellimist commented.

"If, and only if, there had been a runner on base. Alas."

"Alas? Don't tell me you're _supporting_ the home team? And why runner, singular?"

"I don't know of many successful bunts with multiple runners on."

"Evidently you are not a student of the game."

"Neither are you."

"No, I'll admit. But the game I play is one far more intricate-and complex."

"That _we_ play." By this time the next inning had begun.


	7. Top of the Third

The pitcher could "do this", or so he told himself. It was just a game, after all, and he'd taken care of the first six batters easily. Seven through nine should be no big deal…which is why he was somewhat unnerved when his first warm-up pitch didn't make it to the plate. Among other reasons.

"This could develop into a "slugfest" very rapidly," Crayak commented.

"Oh, it could. It could also develop into a Scottish dance festival with identical speed."

"That would probably require more interference on your end."

"Eh, probably." The apparent human female stood up…

and the apparent human male dragged "her" down. "What are you doing?"

"Going to get popcorn," it replied defensively, almost sulkily.

"Oh, if it means that much to you…" Crayak stood up and obtained a box. "Eat this and don't be seen."

"Does this mean I get to employ an invisibility field?" the Ellimist said excitedly as the first batter strode into the box.

"No, it does not," Crayak rolled its eyes in exasperation. Ball one. "The pitcher's scared."

"I might be, too, if I had beings like us watching me play."

"Who says you don't?" Ball two.

The Ellimist fell silent at a possibility it had considered so many times. "I can," it finally said, after the next pitch became ball three and the catcher crashed a spontaneous party on the pitcher's mound. (It can be argued that the catcher was actually throwing a surprise party.)

"You don't count."

"One, two, three…sure I do."

"You know what I mean. I know you know what I mean. You _should _know I know what you mean."

"But if my opinion doesn't count, yours doesn't either, and there's nothing more knowledgeable than either of us." The pitcher, more settled, threw a changeup that was popped up to the shortstop.

"It's still possible."

"I know." The second batter took his place. "But as the pitcher successfully retired that batter, I think if he is afraid, he's been able to rebound."

"Toomin…that would be _basket_ball."

"I really must come up with a derogatory name for you," the Ellimist muttered. Strike one.

"You must? There is some external pressure compelling you to?"

"I'd take care to conceal it from you if there was."

"And here I was, thinking we were seeing the reformed Ellimist. All friendly." Strike two.

"Alas, no such luck. Not yet."

"What would it take to prompt a change?"

"Are you seriously asking me a favor?"

"I'm seeing how shallow you are in your metamorphoses." And a grounder to first. Two away.

"If you can't trust me, I certainly won't reveal information like that to you."

"Oh, I know you're not under external forces but are using very poor word choice."

"You know?"

"Beyond a reasonable doubt."

"And you trust yourself to define reason?"

The Cubs' pitcher was puzzled as he saw the opposing pitcher step up to bat. Didn't those AL populators have "designated hitters" for them? It took him a few seconds to remember that on his home turf, he made the rules. It must have worked-he struck the batter out.


	8. Bottom of the Third

The Yankees' pitcher did not have any extreme thoughts as he claimed the mound: or perhaps all thoughts are extreme from the perspective of a nonsentient, if it has one. Likewise, neither Crayak nor Ellimist found the pitcher's thoughts worth attending to.

Their thoughts, however, they verbalized. "As there is unlikely to be much offensive action in this half-inning, and you're one of its fans, would you like to take a bathroom break now?"

"There has been very little offensive action in the earlier portions of the game." Strike one.

The Ellimist shrugged. "Just suggesting."

"I appreciate your concern."

"Why thank you."

"How do you expect to win this game if you are so easily affected?" Strike two.

"Why do you persist on believing I care about the outcome of this trivial contest?"

"I was speaking of our broader match, for once, but I suppose it applies equally here."

"I'm human right now. Taking a break from that. I'm allowed to speak how I want to."

"How fully are you immersed as a human?"

"What do you mean?"

Strike three. "You're not idealistic enough to let go of all your other endeavors."

"And of course, the delightful irony of the situation is that you can't prove that unless you relinquish control of anything you're doing."

"You're delighted?"

"I am."

Once again Crayak seemed to enjoy their guise. "But of course. Anything for our first date." Up came the next batter.

The Ellimist simpered. "May there be many more."

"Oh, there will be. Not to imply that any of them will be on this planet." Slider that the batter swung at and missed.

"I can't quite see the romance involved in sealing the fates of innumerable species."

"They're denumerable, unless you have a special case of the diagonal proof here known as Cantor's."

"My..."impersonatee" was not familiar with such subtle mathematics. And as her, I'm not either."

Crayak appeared worried. In reality his human form was overwhelmed by the thought flow. How seriously was the Ellimist taking this? And how deeply could it be exploited?

Foul ball. "It would have been interesting had the pitcher struck out the side on nine pitches."

"That, like so much else, is not to be."

"Unless you subscribe to the theory that there are an infinite number of universes."

"I don't." Strike three.

"Existence would probably be better off with only one version of each of us."

"Then since I'm supposed to be the archnemesis of all existence, should I duplicate myself?"

"I recommend against it."

"That only provokes me to do it."

"I assumed that would happen." The next batter took his place.

"Then you're incapable of even pursuing your own interests."

"Or I'm a whole level of thought above you."

"In that case you would have long since triumphed."

"And who says I haven't?" Ball one.

"Look at the evidence."

"Look? I have many other senses."

"Only denumerably many," Crayak smiled.

"But enough to know things are not always as they seem." A rapid shot seemed to be headed over the fence before curving foul.

"How much do I seem human?"

"That's something I'd prefer to use multiple senses to find out." The Ellimist leaned in.

"Pervert." Pop foul to the catcher.


	9. Top of the Fourth

Up approaches the batter, twitching, fingertips dancing on the bat. No wonder he doesn't swing at the first pitch, a strike. All his mental practice is useless now. So many distractions. Ball one. Usually the scoreboard here displays scores (it doesn't serve much purpose otherwise) of other games. There are no other games today. The whole season has come down to this.

Crayak knows, and Crayak comments. "How simpleminded they must be to take pleasure in something so meaningless."

"Are you any different?"

"They as in the spectators."

"You're a spectator."

"Only to amuse you. I've done you a favor, and I expect my favors returned." Ball two.

"Keep waiting."

"Oh, I'll do that." The batter finally managed to bear down enough to swing the bat, and as a bonus made contact with the ball. It sailed to the shortstop's glove.

"I need some other challenge for you, I suppose, as time is so irrelevant for beings of our level."

"Challenge? I consider myself sufficiently challenged."

"Yes, Elli, you're "challenged"." Crayak emphasized the final word by having his pseudofingers imitate quotation marks as the second batter took his place.

"Elli? Euphemistic slang? You're enjoying this more than you let on."

"I'm not going to call attention to you by using the name of the form you've assumed."

"That _you_ chose. I would have drawn more attention by metamorphosing." Foul, pulled.

"Really? In this day and age?"

"Yes."

"You sound confident."

"I am."

"Have you been seriously researching this?" Foul, to the opposite field.

"I doubt you'd believe that I was using my capabilities for something other than interfering which this game."

"So you admit you are."

"No, I'm highlighting your stubbornness, which you already know of at any rate."

"What about superluminal speeds?" Foul, behind home plate. The batter was exhausting his directions.

"There's always Z-space."

""Always" implies the constancy of time."

"Are you questioning it?"

"The question was implied." Pop-up between the mound and plate. The pitcher jogged in and snared it, returning to the mound with a fear on his face no one caught. A jog? This was it! Should he not have ran? And yet…when the ball was safely in his hands…"We'll never be safe as long as your toy is around."

"If the purpose of this excursion was to obtain-"

"It isn't."

"Can I trust you?"

"It's mathematically possible." The third batter approached.

"_Will_ I trust you?"

"How should I know the future? The space-time continuum is constantly-"

"**_Should_ **I trust you?"

"Did you just ask me for ethical advice?"

"Only in one singular reality."

"Stee-rike called on the inside corner," a radio announcer ejaculated. This game filled him with so much fervor he almost didn't care about the outcome…almost.

"I'd say an infinite number of realities," the Ellimist reprimanded.

"You would? Then why didn't you?"

"I just did." It would have been a hit-by-pitch but the batter ducked. The catcher, although lacking confetti, decided it was time for another party, and conferred sternly before returning to the plate. The pitcher was able to force the batter to ground to second.


	10. Bottom of the Fourth

_Author's General Note of Clerification and Not At All A Review Reply: In order to not violate the rules prohibiting "real person fiction", the names of the players are neither given nor relevant. Ditto for the dates. However, the opponent is the Yankees. Or should it be the opponent are the Yankees? The Yankees are the opponent...noun plurality. :P_

And up came the Cubs, again. The first batter took the first pitch for a strike. The Ellimist laughed.

Crayak raised its assumed eyebrows. "What?"

"Some of this species had a theory that time repeated itself; that every event happened infinitely many times before and will happen infinitely many times again."

"Shall we dispel it?"

"I was just amused by the fact that this half-inning is progressing identically to the last time this batter was up." He grounded to short, and the fielder threw it over to first for the out.

"Due to assistance on your part?"

"You know as well as I that that's not it." The second batter assumed his position in the box.

"But nonetheless, I enjoy taunting you."

"I know." Ball, low.

"I know you know."

"Let's not get into a metaknowledge loop."

"Agreed." Pop foul, which the catcher circled under and caught.

"For once."

"I'm a complex sentience."

"_That_ I knew. And you knew I knew."

"How did you know?"

"Spare me."

"Begging for mercy?"

"No." Strike one on the third batter.

"So she claims…" Crayak rolled his eyes.

"She? I've been promoted from Toomin?"

"Congratulations." Strike two.

"It was bound to happen after a few millennia."

"No it wasn't."

"Care to explain yourself?"

"No."

"I'd like you to."

"Which is one of the best arguments for me _not_ to."

"But we're on a date! Remember?" The Ellimist moved the lips of its disguised form closer to Crayak's.

"You are perverted."

The Ellimist waited in annoyance as the batter struck out swinging.

"Okay then. Nothing is "bound" to happen at any time. Especially not when we're looming here to interfere with things."

"That's not a satisfactory explanation."

"I'm satisfied."

"You have low standards." But the Ellimist retracted her lips.


	11. Top of the Fifth

Fifth inning. The pitcher was doing well, he thought, although he was inherently biased. His manager seemed to think he was doing well; with a nod he continued to take the mound. His teammates likewise, although they hadn't said much to him. What was there to be said? Any pregame pep talks were useless now. Once again he was alone.

The batter swung and missed violently at the first offering. A relief, of sorts, although he shouldn't have been straining himself this early in the game. Or was it early?

The Ellimist peered into her container of popcorn. "It was not this full a half-inning ago."

Crayak pretended to focus on the third baseman, gnawing his lip as he dug his cleats into the dirt.

"What did you do?"

"Fill it back up." A streaking foul left jolted the third baseman from his dubious condition.

"Why?"

"Because I knew you'd-I assumed you'd try to go for more, and we-I don't want that." A simplistic parabola to first.

"Which only gives me more incentive to do so."

Crayak looked up to the sky. A lonely planet fought its way out from the clouds. Traditionally, it would still be a bright day now. Afternoon Chicago in October was cool, but no blizzard. But Those who could pushed the games later and later, into the night. "We should have more creative arguments than the ones we've repeated for millennia." The next batter took his position.

"Says you."

"You'd prefer the same ones? The ones, may I point out, that you always lose?" High, borderline pitch ruled a ball.

"You may."

"I appreciate your tolerance."

"Do we not value most highly the qualities we do not possess?" Breaking pitch, inside, but the batter went around.

"Do we?"

"Your repetitious chatter is nihilistic."

"Or below your level of comprehension."

"You keep your options open, don't you."

"I do, and that was poor inflection on your part."

"Rhetoric." Grounder to short, over to first for the out.

"A word of advice: Make your pathetic excuses before they're extracted from you."

"Nine."

"A perfect square. How coincidental."

"Is there any room for coincidence in this world?"

"Not if we attribute it to interference." The lithe sixth batter took his place. "And that applies on other worlds, as well."

"When you say "we" are you referring to the two of us?"

"Two? You're not Toomin."

"Then why do you continue to refer to me as such?" A strike inside.

"You're not _just_ Toomin. You're a medley of, as the humans say, "losers"."

"Not all of them say that."

"They don't know you."

"I meant that they don't speak English."

Crayak reached for the Ellimist's popcorn.

"Unable to come back with an intelligent reply?"

"Unable to dumb myself to your level."

The Ellimist tossed her golden hair. "What do you think I am, a dumb blonde?"

"Actually…"

"And if so, why are you dating me?"

"You're…formidable. A worthy opponent." Skied, it looked like it was going into center, but the second baseman backed up a few steps and down it came.

"Halfway done."

"Barring extra innings."


	12. Bottom of the Fifth

The lights went on.

The lights went off.

Crayak blinked in annoyance. The afterimage of illumination stayed with him, alternating color depending on what he focused on. He couldn't shake it. "Now there was something with no purpose."

"Oh, I think it was."

"Are you referring to the turning on or off of the lights?"

"They both had purposes."

"Illumine me," Crayak said sardonically. The batter took the box.

"The turning on was to protect the safety of the players, the turning off to preserve the equity of the game."

Having little experience with baseball, Crayak frantically accessed data. "The hosts are afraid of resentment if they get an opportunity to bat with the lights on their opponents do not?"

"Precisely, although it's debatable as they might not come to bat as many times as the visitors."

Crayak paused to consider this, and then laughed. "You cannot be suggesting…" Foul tip.

"Oh, I am," the Ellimist gravely intoned.

"At least quit pretending you're maintaining neutrality."

"Maintaining implies I had some to begin with, so you're coming around."

"Are you going to admit it?"

"You have better things to do with your time than to force falsehood out of me." An arcing foul bounded by imperfections traced no parabola, sought no sentience, but fell toward the pair.

Angrily, Crayak drew an image in the perceptions of surrounding organisms and their mechanical tools-that of the form he had taken and another, female, but not the Ellimist. "He" caught the ball and sat down. Though the untruth was broadcast, none knew it was such.

Except the metagalactitians. "You're overexerting yourself," the Ellimist chided.

"Oh, am I? You'd have preferred to let yourself be seen on national TV?"

"You're getting remarkably in-character."

Crayak sullenly returned to his seat. By this time the count had progressed to one and two.

"Can I see the ball?"

"Yes." Crayak made no sign of relinquishing it.

"Well?"

"You asked if you could see the ball. Unless you've been blinded, and with that light thing it wouldn't surprise me too much, then yes, you are capable of seeing the ball." Called strike three.

"Nice to see someone still has respect for the English language." The Ellimist snagged the ball out of Crayak's hands.

"Oh, so you can see, can you? And give me my ball back."

As Crayak reached for it, the Ellimist made her move. But she wasn't quick enough-Crayak ducked before they could make contact.

The next batter entered the dark box. He could see the pitcher without too much strain, and likewise. Not that they had much to look at in each other.

It was balls that bound them. "The ball" would be inaccurate, for which ball defines a game? was not a question either of them had considered. But the cycle of spheres, the flow of the game: that was that fed them so much they were symbiotes to it now in some way.

The pitch came in, high. "Ball one" was declared, though this object's numerical designation considering all its twins in existence was unlikely to be so.

Crayak reclaimed the ball. "There. Is it so difficult to relinquish possession of?"

"What do you want with it?"

"What do you?"

"I asked you first."

"Such brilliant logic."

"Why thank you." Ball two.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Nor do I plan to."

"Any reason why not?"

"Because you seem to want me to, and we're opponents."

"Then why are you going out with me?" Fastball on a 2 and 0 count became strike one.

"I thought-"

"Now _there's_ something for these reporters to cover."

"-we needed a break."

"And by "we" you mean…?"

"The two of us."

"In that case you're wrong. Which is a pity, because your decent ideas are so few and far between." Grounder to first, tossed to the covering pitcher for the out.

"So why did you come with me?"

"Was this a flirtatious attempt to discover my plans verbally when I had my guard down? If so, you should have purchased a beverage indigenous to this planet-"

"That would be against their ordinances."

"Ordinances? Oh yes, I forget you actually care about rules." The sixth batter of the inning assumed his position.

"If you didn't, we wouldn't be here right now."

"But these are so trivial."

"So are you then implying you want to divulge your schemes to me?" Ball one. The catcher, concerned about this erraticity, visited the mound.

"No."

The catcher returned. The pitcher pitched, the batter batted, but the catcher did not fulfill his title. That fell to the left fielder. Three away, and that aggravating image finally left Crayak alone.


	13. Top of the Sixth

"Are they on to stay this time?" Crayak complained.

"Not necessarily."

"Your self-imposed ambiguity doesn't need to apply here."

The Ellimist watched the first batter take strike one. "Are you asking me such a trivial question?"

"No."

"Were you?"

"Well…yes."

"Don't be afraid of honesty." She spat out a poor kernel. "Now, about the lights. They might stay on. Then again, they might not."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"If the game extended to a point such that they would be unnecessary." Wild pitch, high and outside. The catcher leaped to snare it.

"Unlikely, don't you think?"

"Considering the demonstrated quality of these two teams?"

"Or are you referring to the quality of their puppetmasters?"

"Y'know…females of this species mature before males. Maybe that's why you keep coming up with these stupid ideas." Sizzling strike two.

"From Toomin to teen in…" Crayak did not come up with a time interval he found appropriate. "stantaneously."

"I'm a multifaceted sentience."

"The polite way of calling yourself a collection of minds, all of which bicker with each other."

"As opposed to…?" A lofty pop-up to second base.

"These players, each with one mind too many."

"Too many for what?"

Crayak turned to the Ellimist, annoyed. "_I_ am trying to contradict your argument here."

"I've noticed. But I'm trying to sustain it."

"I thought that you wanted to take a break."

"So don't contradict me."

"Resignation is not the same as a mutual, temporary cessation."

"Crayak, what do you want?"

He turned and stared directly into the Ellimist's eyes. "Nothing you will give."

"I'm full of surprises."

Crayak felt relieved that the Ellimist had not said something to the effect of "How do you know? Can you see the future?", but made no sign of it. The second batter grounded to third.

The pitcher rereceived the ball, and as he did so, shivered in the October wind. He turned around on the mound and looked up at the scoreboard.

He should have known, should have realized. But he hadn't, and his eyes grew large and circular, like the multiple zeroes he saw. Getting that next out was harder than the preceding seventeen, but wearily he did it and retreated into the dugout. Finally, a use for those unwieldy jackets.


	14. Bottom of the Sixth

"I am officially bored," Crayak declared.

"What makes it official?"

"My dictum." Strike one slid in.

"Should I honor your dictum?"

"That's twice you've asked me for ethical advice. I'm concerned about your sanity."

"Aw…it's so sweet to know you care."

Crayak watched the batter foul out.

"Aren't you going to put your arm around me to support me through my lunacy?"

"I am not."

This disappointed the Ellimist. Downcast, she watched with less apparent interest as the second batter of the inning swung feebly and missed.

"I take that back. If you are supporting-"

"I'm not."

"Now how did you know what I was going to say?"

"I can assume."

"Did you?"

"Find out yourself," the Ellimist retorted, knowing that that would cause Crayak to stop doing one of the things he was doing. High ball one.

"I think I will."

"You think?"

"More effectively than you do."

"Or-"

"I'm incapable of understanding your genius."

"I really wish you wouldn't interrupt me."

"I don't want to be responsible for letting your prattle poison the audal receptors of these beings." Strike two.

"Is that a sense of social responsibility I detect in you?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

"Your hallucination." The pitch was low and could have been a ball, but the batter swung and grounded out, second to first.

"Whose are we?"

"How did that have anything to do with what we were talking about?"

"Anyone who assumes I am hallucinating should consider their own existence. See, there's some ethical advice for you."

"And how many people have followed this advice?"

"Well, it all depends on your base."

"First, second, or third?"

"Your _numerical_ base," the Ellimist snapped.

"Ah, but zero in any base is still zero." Zinger back to the pitcher, caught for out three.


	15. Top of the Seventh

The pitcher tried to concentrate as he was warming up, to block out the batter impatiently rubbing his bat in the dirt of the on-deck circled, the dugouts, the fans who were quieter than usual. On the verge of guessing, something was different today. Besides the fact that the Cubs were in the seventh game of the World Series, a fact some still had not "gotten around".

The first batter finally was allowed to assume his place. "Top of the order," Crayak observed.

"Indeed. Do you say that with pleasure in your voice?"

"Find out yourself."

"I think I will." A fastball, too fast for the batter. Called strike.

"And abandon your control on this game?"

"What if I don't have any?"

"What if you do?"

"Then you can abandon any control you may or may not have to see what I'm doing."

Like their simulated personas, the Ellimist and Crayak had a bond. A bond so unrivable that it was easy for the Ellimist to access Crayak's past moves, encrypted in infinitesimal dimensions of spacetime. And only a bit harder for Crayak to interfere, garbling the message like static. Like the static that was interceptable to Cubs fans on the outskirts of a circle extending from Chicago, trying to tell them that the batter had swung and had been spun around by inertia. Like the static some humans had hypothesized was aliens attempting to communicate with them.

The Ellimist looked disapprovingly at Crayak. "What do you have to hide?"

"I've been diverting my energy."

"From this?"

"Are you accusing me of what you so vehemently defended yourself of?"

"You're being overly dominant."

"Who are you to judge?"

"You're the one going out with me."

"Or maybe _you're_ the one going out with _me_."

"I came up with the idea."

"Defying your gender's position in this species." Brushback, ball one.

"Chauvinism went out with…" The Ellimist looked for a suitable analogy. "That light pop-up behind home plate?" The catcher settled under the projectile in question and retrieved it.

"It's back."

"Says-" The Ellimist caught herself before entering the murky world of human humor in regards to baseball. "which individual? Or, which collection of minds?" The first pitch to the next batter was safely in the strike zone, but he didn't swing.

"The only right one."

"One? Or many?"

"Find out, if you're so inquisitive. Or haven't already expended your energy."

"I'm infinite."

"No you're not."

"Your debating skills have reached a relative minimum."

"Don't you mean "absolute minimum"?"

"I would, but that might provoke you to say something even less intelligent. And I couldn't handle that," drive to left caught when the outfielder positioned there dove, "nor could the rest of the universe."

"I think it could."

"Not if it was destroyed by my rage."

"You couldn't destroy the universe."

"I could try."

"But you're part of the universe."

"So are you."

"We've been through this." Dribbler to the pitcher, over to first. "And if I've been keeping track, about…"

"You couldn't say the number in this human lifespan."

"Which is why I think we should come up with more creative matters to debate."

"I don't."

"Well, this is even less creative."

"So I'm successful."

"If that makesyou feel better."


	16. The Way It Wasn't

"I," the Ellimist did not declare, "am going to get some more popcorn."

"No you're not," Crayak didn't angrily respond.

The Ellimist did not stand up and wave her arms as "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" began to play. She also did not say, "But this is the seventh inning stretch!"

Crayak didn't hiss, "So what? People will see you!"

"Is that a bad thing?" she didn't retort.

A camera operator did not scan the Ellimist and Crayak's row, and in shock, focus in on the Ellimist. The image of one of the saviors of the world, who happened to be dead, was not broadcast to all the fans watching on television.

Crayak didn't smirk, saying, "Told you so."

No, none of it occurred. And the only individuals with the power to see a stitch in the space-time continuum had made a mutual pact that the seventh-inning stretch would not be spoken of.

It was not.


	17. Bottom of the Seventh

The Cubs' pitcher didn't look at his counterpart. Or anybody else, for that matter, not like they were looking at him. Even going up to bat would be better than this quarantine.

But that role was to be filled by another. One who entered the box, knowing it would probably be his last at-bat of the game. No…plate appearance. He might draw a walk, which would not constitute an at-bat.

"Here. Eat and be quiet." Crayak handed the Ellimist peanuts and Cracker Jack. "You said you wanted it." Pop to the pitcher. The only walk would be back to the dugout.

"Did you buy it, or conjure it up from the nothingness between the atoms? Because I told you to buy it."

"I heard you."

"However…e equals mc². So if you conjured it up…the energy had to come from somewhere." The Ellimist concentrated on the origin point as the next batter swung and missed at a pitch almost right down the pipe. "Dark matter…eh, that works."

"Aren't you curious as to what I'm doing while you're so occupied?"

"No, because if I attempt to find out you'll take advantage of that to continue with it."

Strike two. "Thank you for not being stupid enough to take me up on that."

The Ellimist sighed and examined the ravaged debris. "What has _Falla Kadrat_ ever done to you?"

"Exist." Strike three. "Actually, it should be _had_."

"Barring a reversion of the space-time continuum."

"I thought you were opposed to those!"

"Thought, past tense?"

"Yes, past tense." Inside pitch to the next batter that the umpire ruled a strike.

"I'm not promoting one."

"Even to save the Kadratians? Face it, if there's one person who messes with time it's you."

"I'm one person? I thought you thought-" Screwball, ball one.

"You thought I wasn't open-minded enough to change my opinions."

"You're here."

"A depiction of myself."

"I was surprised."

"Didn't you think I'd have an ulterior motive?"

"Oh, I'd already assumed that."

"Sometimes I wish for a more competent opponent." Crayak gazed idly at the field. A high fastball scorched in for ball two.

"If you were any less competent you'd be defeated by now."

"Can you prove it?"

"Certainly. I merely need you to lower your level of competence."

Grounder to second, throw to first. "Alas, I feel the noble calling to keep it high enough for you to see."


	18. Top of the Eighth

The pitcher thought he should be tired, his arm at least. He didn't make it into the eighth often. But there was no strain in his arm, or at least none that he paid attention to.

"Given up on _Falla Kadrat_ yet?" Crayak smirked.

"Generally opponents are not informed of each other's battle plans."

"Generally _opponents_ do not go out on _dates_."

"I think they do."

Crayak stared, silenced.

"Not necessarily with each other." Strike one curved in.

The batter stepped out, kicked some dirt off his shoes, and stared down at the box, not really interested in stepping back in. The umpire didn't want to hurry it along-the game was moving quickly overall.

He stuck the end of his bat into the dirt, pushed his weight on it, and resumed his position, biting his tongue a little.

"I would assume," Crayak argued, "that they'd be too busy to be going out with anybody."

"It depends on the level of competition they engage in."

Above the scoreboard, the flags blew in the night wind. The pitcher stepped off the rubber and rubbed his hands on his pants, which barely relieved the sweat. "So you're considering these and us to be on the same level?"

"These what? Peanuts? Quite tasty, but not competitors." Light grounder. The third baseman charged in and made the out. "On second thought, they are. Competing for control of my taste buds."

"If you're going to treat this as a joke…" Crayak attempted to have the rest of his sentence implied.

"Yes?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what will happen if I treat your statements as jokes?"

"I can't predict the future."

"Sure you can." A pitch far out of the strike zone. "You just may not be accurate." That the batter swung (and missed) at anyway.

"Then I won't."

The Ellimist was satisfied with this answer.

A pigeon perched on the stadium lights. Tilting its wing, it took off again.

The next pitch came over the middle of the plate, but the batter popped it almost perfectly straight up. The catcher reached up and obtained it almost effortlessly.

The (physical) stress that had escaped the pitcher now hit. He tried to give no sign of it, and got the sign.

"So what _are _you going to do about _Falla Kadrat_?"

The Ellimist didn't answer. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, she explored new possibilities for her moves. The pitch came in high.

"You're making this too easy."

She shook her head. "I'd know."

"You seem oddly…complacent."

Again she refrained from response. High ball two.

"What are you up to?" Angrily, Crayak probed the Ellimist's activity. The Ellimist used Crayak's tactic and leapt ahead, making another move, trying to save another satellite. "You're not going to tell me? We shouldn't keep secrets from each other like this."

"Oh, you're ready to take our relationship to the next level? Why didn't you let me know?"

Low but in the zone, strike one.

"You were a bit occupied with some…endangered species. Apologies."

"Not accepted."

"What's it gonna take?"

"Do you really want the answer to that?" Strike two.

Crayak pondered it momentarily and then decisively said, "No."

"Okay then."

Pop-up high. So high that few were able to follow its distorted, almost illusional path. But the pitcher grasped it. Three away.


	19. Bottom of the Eighth

"I _knew_ I'd forgotten something!" the Ellimist seethed.

"I know you want me to ask "What?", so I won't."

"But since I'm feeling divulgive-"

"Oh, _now_ you feel divulgive-"

"I'll tell you anyway. I didn't get a scorecard!"

Swinging strike.

"A…_scorecard_? What kind of antiquated fogey are you to want a scorecard?"

"One who wants to remember this game. It's been a good one."

"Why do you speak in the past tense?" The pitch came in, and was driven deep to left. The Yankees' left fielder took off after it, running towards the wall. He leapt up against the wall.

Most objects, after leaving the surface of a more massive object, return to it after a time period determined by their relative masses and velocities. The left fielder's glove, however, achieved his objective in catching the ball, but did not abide by the law of gravity.

A brief turn revealed why. It had become lodged in the photosynthetic ivy, and remained there after the outfielder had returned to the field. He picked it up, ball inside, and slipped it on his hand.

"OUT!"

"A skillful maneuver," Crayak nodded.

"Indeed it was," the Ellimist admitted.

"So why don't you get up and cheer? Oh yes, because you're so biased."

"I'm thinking about an inherent problem in the scoring system."

"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase "think on your feet"?"

"First of all, the exclamation point used to denote exceptional plays is only subjective. Second of all, when placed after the number seven it denotes-"

"And this is why you did _not_ get a scorecard." The pitch to the next batter was over the inner part of the strike zone and made it in for called strike one.

"Now who's assuming the constancy of time?"

"Is it worth it to you to edit so much just to get one?"

"Worth what?" The batter swung early at a changeup.

"Would your pawns like you to waste your move on a scorecard?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

"Because I've projected an image of myself here. And the humans are intelligent enough to notice when someone disappears from their immediate vicinity."

"I would think that they're engrossed in the game…why don't you go visit _Falla Kadrat_? The carbon monoxide would be good for you."

"And abandon you?"

"I didn't know you cared so much." Inside, ball one.

"Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"But I still think you should go."

"Making one…no, several…of us."

"How about after the game?"

"How about…not. And which game?" Crayak added critically.

The Ellimist, who thought she had gotten away with "it", blushed as a pitch came over the corner of the plate for the third strike. "This one."

"Ah. Assuming that it does end."

"I think it will."

"It's not on pace to."

"That won't sway me."

"Aren't you persuaded by mathematics?"

"Are you factoring in the psychological difficulties of maintaining this condition?"

Crayak didn't respond. Soft tap down the first-base line but ruled foul as it curved towards the dugout.

"See? You weren't. You underestimate other organisms."

"Or you overestimate them."

"Or you've misjudged my estimation."

"Or you're just trying to come up with a comeback before the delay makes you look idiotic."

"Or maybe this will develop into a Scottish dance festival."

Crayak attempted to scoot as far away from the Ellimist as possible while still remaining in his seat, a distance that would probably not be measured in light-years. The pitch was far outside and the batter intelligently took it as a ball.

"You're going to let me have the last word?"

"That sounds rather cynical coming from you."

Now it was the Ellimist's turn to be stumped for a reply. "What is it about the word "that" that denotes cynicism?" Foul tip into the stands.

"The fact that it is being spoken, which is a use of energy, which hastens the potential entropical stasis of the universe."

"You presume I oppose that?"

"Yes, I do."

"I presumed you wouldn't want to come to this game."

Crayak narrowed his eyes. The pitch came in in a precise location, pinpointed so the batter's swing would miss.

He glared at his date, as if daring her to speak.


	20. Top of the Ninth

There was applause.

Due to the sieves applied and the requirements to obtain admission, many of the celebrities in attendance did not know or understand what was going on. But the true fans more than made up for that with their recognition of the pitcher as he strode to the mound. Regardless of the outcome, they had been witnesses to something amazing.

Baseball, for many of them, was a folk tale told and retold until the scars on the face of the past were effaced, and only an undefinable excellence remained in the tales of a paradise they could not reach-assuming that they did not access the Time Matrix. Now, they had a glimpse of legend, and would become the writers that convinced an ensuing generation of their own glory.

Crayak, however, was not applauding.

The pitcher, for a brief time interval, attempted to block the noise from his mind, but quickly realized that's futility. Instead, he hovered on the mound for a moment to take it all in…then assumed the windup. Strike one.

"Here we go," the Ellimist said excitedly.

"How literally are you using the word "we"?"

"Literally enough to feel a certain camaraderie with everyone else here. I mean it! None of us know how this will come out."

Crayak rolled his eyes.

The catcher buzzed the ball back. It stung the pitcher's glove as he caught it, or maybe he was just acutely sensitive right now. Likely.

"So…" the Ellimist tapped her fingers on the side of her chair. "Do you think the pitcher will bat for himself?"

"No," Crayak sardonically replied. "He'll bat for someone else." Borderline pitch ruled a ball.

"I would have hoped you'd have a relevant reply…after all, you're quite the strategist." She almost simpered trying to complement him.

"You _were_ referring to the visitors' pitcher, weren't you?"

"I was. The home team's pitcher won't necessarily have to come to bat at all."

"I believe he will." Ball two.

"You could force him to."

"I won't waste myself influencing this meaningless event."

"It means something to me."

Could Crayak force the outcome? If the Ellimist wasn't opposing him, it would be easy. If the Ellimist was…

Strike two came. The pitcher shook his arm, trying to release his tension. Cameras focused in, announcers dramatized it, techies flashed pitch counts, the catcher considered what sign to give next. He decided on one, and flashed it down.

How was the pitcher supposed to see? The lights were only distractions.

"What exactly does it mean to you?"

"That we're _not_ interfering with it. That it's just whatever happens."

"Please do not turn into a neo-purist."

"Turn into?"

The pitcher squinted through the lights and got the sign. A sign, at least. Outside, ball three.

"You should know better than anyone that what you would call the "good old days" were those preceding your knowledge of our competition."

"I'm refraining from taking your ethical advice."

The catcher went to the mound to discuss tactics.

"Good."

"Excuse me?" the Ellimist inquired.

"You shouldn't take my ethical advice. You shouldn't do anything that I tell you to do."

With a full count, the pitcher threw and fired a pitch on the edge of the strike zone. The batter approached it, but checked his swing. The ball zoomed into the catcher's glove. For once, a plurality of pressure did not fall on the pitcher.

It was the umpire all looked at. His duty was to call the pitch-simply defined, but incredibly difficult under these circumstances. Already the delay was noticeable.

It wasn't his duty to call "it" as it was seen. Rather, he would decide how others saw it. How could they be pressuring him?

"Strike!" he defined it.

"Then shut up," the Ellimist said defiantly.

"I think I will."

"And let me have the last word?"

_Is there such a thing?_ Crayak asked outside of the human form.

NOT THE WAY I HOPE THINGS GO.

_You hope?_

ALWAYS.

The pitcher received a sign and nodded in the direction of home plate. He had no reason to do this for the batter's sake, and common interpretation was that it was towards the catcher, not in recognition of the preceding call. The batter swung and hit the ball square on, sending it towards the bleachers. It might have been wind that carried it into foul territory.

_Why?_

"Why not?" The Ellimist resumed her human conversation.

_The high possibility for disappointment._

Above the shoulders, ball one.

If Crayak had responded to that, that meant he was expending some of his energy on listening to the Ellimist, even as his human image was being rendered irrelevant. Was he concentrating enough on that that _Falla Kadrat_ was still salvageable? Tentatively, the Ellimist explored spacetime…

_Don't even think about it._

Inside pitch almost nailed the batter. Two and one…

"It?"

_You know what I mean._

"I do indeed."

_Then why are you wasting my time?_

"You're wasting it just as much by being here." Lazy fly, up to the first baseman. He caught it, gave the tiniest of nods, and returned it to the mound.

_Yes._

"You agree that you're wasting your time?"

_No, I'm answering your earlier question about whether you think the pitcher will bat for himself._ Sure enough, he was doing just that.

"Are you scared, Crayak?"

"Of-" He quickly reverted. _what?_

"Losing. Being wrong."

_No,_ he replied arrogantly, _because it will never happen._

This seemed to satisfy the Ellimist. "Okay."

She rose to her feet, not coercing Crayak to follow, but her surrounders followed. No ovation-this moment was too silent for that-but an acknowledgement of everything that had been, and that about to happen.

The pitcher, whichever one, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them.

The pitch and swing were like many others before. It was not entirely unexpected; the first at-bat of this half-inning was plenty dramatic, although lacking an interminable streak of foul balls. Still, few expected the ball to do what it did, leave the field and then some until it was less distinct than the stars.

But despite the excitement and the surge of emotion, two people very responsible hardly reacted. One circled the bases, making sure at least one of his shoes touched each; the other received a new ball, impatient to get the final out of the half-inning.

After expending some effort, he did.


	21. Bottom of the Ninth

Crayak narrowed his eyes as he looked into the bleachers and laughed. "A double whammy for you."

"Excuse me?" The Ellimist was focused on computing the probability that the Cubs' pitcher would bat for himself (assuming, of course, that the game got that far).

"Even if you don't care about the winner, I know you'll be upset about this. Look." He pointed to a fan walking down the steps.

"There's a mathematical chance she's just going to get some popcorn-I know the feeling," the Ellimist sputtered, in denial of the truth.

Crayak sat back coolly.

The Yankees' pitcher took the mound to cheers from his (identified) supporters in the stadium and elsewhere. The Cubs' batter nervously faced him, making no effort to hide his emotions. The pitch came in, and the batter swung late.

Anxiously, the Ellimist looked around the stadium, searching for what she didn't want to find. Crayak let her without comment. He shrugged and grinned as the batter took two consecutive strikes.

The Ellimist began to tap her fingers on the edge of her chair, nervously.

"Is it just me, or do you perhaps…care?"

"Care? Yes! I do care! I…" Changeup that the batter swung at much too early to hit with such force that his "follow-through" was comical.

"Don't pretend I'm not getting to you like that."

She clenched her teeth.

"Luckily for you, I don't require challenges to keep me stimulated. Otherwise I'd be bored."

"Are you goading me?"

Crayak shrugged. "Hey, watch this."

The next pitch was released normally, and sailed in as a borderline pitch normally. But those who had the ability to track the rotations and translate them out of a binary code would have seen something very abnormal.

"Oh, and…" The umpire ruled it a strike.

The Ellimist closed her eyes in thought for a moment and nodded. "Yes, of course they do."

"Is that a problem?"

"Why would it be? Remember why we're here in the first place? I enjoy the color blue."

"As in "once in a blue moon"? Quite the relevant phrase, I'd say."

"You would?"

_In fact, I will. Quite the relevant phrase._

"In regards to what?"

"The success of the home team." Strike three.

The Cubs' pitcher stared out at a scoreboard more blighted, in his opinion, than it had before when the strings of zeroes ran uninterrupted. He was being pinch-hit for, as strategy dictated. He was not resentful, only disappointed that he wouldn't be able to make up for that last half-inning.

Make up for? One baserunner through nine innings? What kind of standards were those?

"Anything to say?" Crayak asked the Ellimist.

She shook her head as her troubled eyes watched the action on the field. Or lack thereof. Hitting balls into play had not been a salient feature of this half-inning. The pinch-hitter continued this cycle through the majority of his at-bat, in which he accumulated two strikes. During that, the Ellimist and Crayak conversed.

"Would you tell me what you're doing, at least?"

"Would I?"

"Who knows you better than you know yourself?"

"Myself in the singular or plural?"

"Either."

"That you know the answer to."

"Me."

Her silence was confirmation enough.

"With perfect knowledge, the game is less interesting, so I won't probe you any further."

"So you're opposing sign-stealing?"

"Only if base-stealing's possible."

"Excluding the majority of this game. Unless, of course, someone got on base…"

"You could arrange that."

"Why would I want to?"

"Do you really think I know you better than you know yourself?"

"It makes sense."

"Why?"

"Because I know you better than you know yourself."

"No you don't."

"You only think I don't. You're too far behind me to understand that."

"Getting cocky, are we?"

"We? I have farther to go than you do."

"In the area of excellence, indeed."

"And if you fell behind?"

"I won't."

"Can you prove it?"

"Only by continuing my domination. Can you prove I won't?"

"Only by showing it."

"So there you go."

"But I can tell you something more important about yourself."

"Are you going to?"

"You won't understand."

"That's arrogance."

"For once, I know I'm right."

"Try me."

"Your flaw, and what will be your undoing, is what I've suspected for a long time, and began to prove earlier this inning. You're afraid to lose. Whereas I am the best at it."

Strike three came in. The Ellimist waited to make sure the catcher held onto the ball.


	22. Loch Lomond

**Author's Note: Most songfics have italicized lyrics alternating with unformatted text. Due to the unique nature of this, however, lyrics will be printed in normal format.**

**Thanks for reading. **

By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes

_Against a black sky, who's able to read that "L" flag?_

Where the sun shines high on Loch Lomond

_The stars that look like they're around it might all have gone nova already._

There me and my true love spent many happy days

_You know they could have won? A true, untainted victory?_

On the bonnie, bonnie, banks of Loch Lomond.

_The humans are volatile: capable of destroying themselves without my assistance. Such was the case._

'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen

_If he'd heard what happened, he wouldn't even gloat._

On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond

_Would that pressure have been on if there had been a hit on the first pitch?_

Where in deep purple hue, the highland hills we view

_It's a chaotic system. A single change and things would oscillate wildly. If only I had the chance to research…without jeopardizing my other projects._

And the moon glints out in the gloaming.

_So many preferred the home run to the pitching duel. I don't mind being part of the majority._

The wee birdies sing and the wild flowers spring

_You didn't think I'd come, and you couldn't dream I'd stay longer than you._

And in sunshine the waters are sleeping

_Moved on to bigger and better things?_

But the broken heart, it knows no second spring again

_Do they know they'll never get another chance?_

Though the woeful may cease from their grieving.

_The real losers are the simpletons who take delight in this._

You take the high road…

_So did you even interfere at all?_

…and I'll take the low road

_I could find out, of course, but I have other things to accomplish._

And I'll get to Scotland before you

_At least you've realized _Falla Kadrat_ is beyond hope._

But me and my true love will never meet again

_She was your pawn, just as he was mine._

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

_Space and time are so relative, and yet I understand your reasons for keeping them stagnant._

The broken heart, it knows no second spring…


End file.
